


Good Intentions

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: sexy_right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt doesn't intend to snoop on John's computer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt "John gets a new computer" from persnickett, given to me back in the Let's Get Sev Writing Again days. Thanks, Snick. Written for the LFoDH 5th Anniversary Fest at LJ's sexy-right community.
> 
> * * *

Matt doesn't intend to snoop on John's computer. 

He's merely passing through the hallway on his way back to his room, a fresh Red Bull in hand and most of his mental attention focused on his latest project, when he glances into John's room and happens to notice that John left his IM chat window open. 

He hesitates in the doorway, squinting at the white square in the corner of John's monitor. He's used to John shouting at him down the hall, asking him super confusing computer questions like _how do I open a new window in this google_ and _what's a ulr again, kid,_ so the very fact that John actually knows how to _open_ a chat, never mind carry on a conversation with someone, is really kind of mind-blowing. 

But he's going to put it out of his mind, because he's all legit now and he's got an actual pre-paid client expecting the first phase of a new virus protection program on Monday and the code – even though he could do it in his sleep – doesn't exactly write itself, when he remembers how John hates leaving his system on. He can hear John ranting – "thing'll overheat and blow sky high, set the goddamn place on fire, I really gotta remind you that it's happened before, kid?" -- never mind that THAT time it was a bomb set by circus-assassins bent on world domination _or_ that Matt's told him a thousand times that the computer is fine on sleep mode _or_ that Matt himself is running four systems and two servers 24/7 in his little guest room slash closet. 

So he detours into the bedroom just to do John a favour. He's being a good samaritan.

He doesn't plan on looking at anything.

He respects other people's privacy.

He learned that lesson at fifteen from the other side of the fence, when his parents came across the Jeff Stryker video on his laptop and there may have been a long talk in the living room, dad wearing his _we're just concerned about you son_ face and mom knocking back vodka sours like there was no tomorrow.

So when he sets his drink down on John's desk and reaches out his hand, his only intention is to close the chat window and then shut down John's system. 

Then the only visible line of chat catches his eye.

_\-- if the kid would stop wandering around with just a fucking towel on it would help my goddamn blood pressure --_

Huh.

Matt sits his ass down, swipes a hand through his hair and re-reads the message. Then re-reads it again. Chews at his bottom lip. 

He's smart. He can work through this.

Okay. So John's body issues aside – and Matt makes a mental note to bring sleep pants and a T-shirt to the bathroom from now on – the real problem here is the mention of blood pressure. Because John nags him to fucking death about doing his leg exercises and taking his antibiotics, but the dude is notoriously tight-lipped about his own visits to the doctor. And he's working too much and getting all stressed out and sometimes he comes home smelling like the cigarettes that he's swears he hasn't taken up smoking again, and it's entirely possible that his doctor has prescribed some kind of hypertension medication that Matt really should know about, especially since he's the one who prepares most of the meals and what if something he's making is contraindicated with the meds? What about last week, when his shin was cramping every time he put pressure on it so he asked John to lug out those heavy boxes from the closet? What if John is one step away from a heart attack or a stroke and Matt has just been making it worse?

He needs to _know_ this shit.

So he only intends to scroll up a little. Just to see if there are any underlying factors in play that he should be aware of. For the good of John's health.

Which is when he discovers that John had been talking with Al Powell. And that Al had been giving John relationship advice. 

About just sucking it up and making the first move.

On him.

It takes about five seconds for his brain to go from _Huh_ to _ohmygodwhatthefuckholyshit._ Then Matt is out of the chair, pacing, hands corkscrewing his hair in about seventy five directions, and he's not really aware that he's talking out loud, a litany of _holy fuck_ 's and _jesus christ_ 's, until he catches sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser and sees his own lips moving. 

He stops in the middle of the room and takes a breath. 

He's smart. He can figure this out.

Except that the only thing he can think of – which is basically along the lines of shouting _Yippee!_ and jumping John the minute he walks through the door – is probably not the most viable option right now.

He finally decides to just put everything back the way he found it. He'll leave the chat window the way it was; pretend he never saw it. He can do that. And then he'll try to subtly let John knows that he's most definitely interested. His experience in that area is pretty much limited to the few nights he ventured into the city – and usually started in a crowded bar with him saying something lame like "I love this song" or "nice jacket" and ended thirty minutes and three sweat-soaked dances later in a grungy bathroom with his pants around his ankles – but he can try. 

He sits back down in front of the computer, wipes his clammy palms on his thighs. He mouses over to the chat window, sets everything back to rights. Exhales a shaky breath. Okay. Now everything will be fine.

Which is when the computer speaks to him.

"Heyyyy Roy, thought you had to take off?"

"Oh," Matt whispers. "Oh shit."

There's a long pause before the voice says, "You're not John."

And that's when Matt realizes that he's been so focused on the text messages that he didn't even realize that John has a webcam.

"Uh," Matt says after a long moment. "Please don't tell." 

And then to complete his regression to a five year old, he bolts. 

It's only when he's back in his room, again swiping his hands through his hair and quite possibly hyperventilating, that he realizes he could have just explained himself. Clearly and concisely, like an adult. New Sidekick to Original Sidekick. Instead, he spends the next three hours completely and thoroughly fucking up his code and mentally alternating between a scenario in which Al immediately calls John's cell and tells him that old habits die hard and the hacker was snooping around in his shit and by the way, he knows you're hot for him or one in which Al wisely and serenely does as Matt asked, keeps his mouth shut, and all is well with the world.

In the end, he needn't have worried about the Original Sidekick at all. 

John appears in the open doorway to his room shortly before midnight. He leans his good shoulder against the doorjamb, cocks a brow. He's wearing that smirk that Matt knows so well. And he's got Matt's now-warm Red Bull clutched in one beefy hand.

"So," John says. "Got something you want to tell me?"

Matt swallows, tries a weak grin.

He's smart. He can make this work.


End file.
